House on Fire
by ranchozabaco
Summary: All of the Death Eaters chose their allegiance for their own reason. All but one.


Not many knew just how old the Carrow house was. Part of the foundation, at least, dated back to the Roman occupation of Britain, and the rest of the house had been constructed in the midst of the Dark Ages. To Alecto, the day the last brick was laid marked the zenith of her family name. Now, however many centuries later, it was just an old house sitting atop a lonely hill, sinking slowly out of existence, quietly being consumed by the moors. In the back of her mind, Alecto feared she would share its fate.

It was the last time she would be forced to return to her father's house. She had made up her mind on the train ride home; in a year's time, she would enter the adult world and wash away all mention of the name Carrow. Married or not, she would take on some new name and identity. She wouldn't be like Amycus, content to live on the moors and take over the house after their parents died, to live isolated among bracken water and crowberry. In a few months' time, which seemed close and far away all at once, Alecto would kiss her mother and take her things and never look back. It was settled.

She felt as if the house knew of her mutiny. The walls seemed different, colder, as if she didn't belong. The sconce above her bed gave no light; the wick had been swallowed up long ago. There was dust everywhere, like no one had expected her return. She stared at the ceiling, blank except for a spider the size of a quill nib that was scurrying to find a dark corner. The little creature would find shelter soon enough; her home had enough darkness.

She heard Amycus marching about his room across the hall; he was probably unpacking, finding niches for all of his little treasures. His bedroom, most likely, was far more interesting than hers. Amycus was the type to hide away possessions that to anyone else would be meaningless: bits of metal, old scraps of parchment, broken jewelry, rocks, and other tiny pieces of human consumption that boggled her. Her best guess was that it was some type of schematic of mnemonic to her brother, a way of representing the saw the world. Alecto was sure he had brought home a trunk full of interesting twigs or some other trash. She would explore his room later, of course, when he was in the bath or otherwise engaged. She might even move things about, or throw something away, just to see if he would notice.

Alecto got out of bed reluctantly and examined herself in the mirror. She was still wearing her uniform, skirt rumpled, shirt un-tucked and creased like tissue paper. She had considered wearing them for the whole summer as some kind of protest, but quickly abandoned the idea because the wool of her skirt was itchy. Huffing, she stripped out of her clothes, pausing to study her body for a moment, and went to her trunk, which sat untouched at the foot of her bed. She selected a navy-colored dress; it was simple cotton, with long sleeves and a tear in the seam of the shoulder. It would do.

It really didn't matter what she wore in this place; it was just her and Amycus, and maybe her parents; she wasn't really sure. Indisputably, no one would come calling for her all the way out here. Alecto wasn't certain if they even had proper neighbors out here. There was so little to do in this place, except for maybe look at sheep or read something. She couldn't do magic, not even the tiniest spell; it was driving her mad. Alecto tried calculating the number of days she would have to wait to return to Hogwarts, but gave up after a moment. It was silly the way she was impatient, but then again Alecto was sixteen and all that mattered was getting to seventeen.

For the millionth time she missed her dormitory. At school, she had a fireplace only meters from her bed, a velvet canopy veiling her at night, and everyone wore the same clothes and socks and it was easy to pretend money didn't matter. But now, she was alone in her cold, darkened room, with a window covered in medieval grime that only let in a blurry outline of her mother's roses. Alecto was painfully aware that she would never live in a manor like the one Narcissa Black had traded in for her virginity. It was something had come to accept recently, as she received wedding announcements in the post and had blinding diamonds shoved in her face: Alecto Carrow would probably never amount to anything.

Across the hallway, Amycus dropped something heavy.

Aggravated, Alecto huffed and tossed a blanket over her shoulders, then stormed out of her room and into her brother's. She was always a bit boggled by her brother's obsessive neatness, evident in the sight she came upon inside his bedroom. Everything was cordoned away in its own corner, the floor bare, nothing out of place. Amycus, ever the busy little bee, had already emptied his trunk, and was sorting out his clothes for the wash. He said nothing as she crossed the threshold, only pitched a handful of socks into a basket near the door.

"You're making an awful lot of noise," she accused, even though it wasn't all that true. Amycus remained silent. He had yet to change out of his school clothes. Alecto rolled her eyes and stalked across the room, towards the window. He had some of his mementos lining the top sill: a plastic army man only slightly larger than her thumbnail, a bit of metal with a loop in it, a brilliant blue feather, and a Muggle lighter, the kind you threw away. Her eyes narrowed as she examined his little treasures. It was just so terribly odd, the things he brought home. Alecto picked up the lighter and turned back towards her brother.

"Where did you get this?"

"The train station," he replied, and she turned the wheel a few times to strike the flint. It was more difficult than she had imagined, and sort of scraped her finger. She had seen them at school; some of the older Mudbloods carried them around to light purloined cigarettes.

"You'll waste it!" Amycus whined, and she huffed before setting the Muggle trash back in its place. Alecto bounced on her toes, watching him fold his clothes.

"Why don't you just buy your own, then? You can go off and do anything you want," Alecto muttered, the jealousy showing in her voice. Amycus shrugged, tossing aside a notebook that had been thrown in amidst his clothes.

"Maybe I will," he said curtly, looking up at her, "What do you want, anyway?"

"Merlin, Amycus, what the bloody hell else should I be doing?" she squealed, throwing up one hand dramatically, "It's been less than a day and I'm already going mad in this place. At least you can do magic and all. Go anywhere you want…"

"Can you go whine somewhere else?" Amycus cut in. She stared at her brother for a moment. He didn't look any different; he didn't look like an adult. His hair was still too long, brushing his eyebrows in the front. She didn't expect him to get any taller; Amycus was much too old to start growing again. She was only a few centimeters shorter, but he meaty all around. It was why the others in Slytherin liked to keep him around.

She had failed to notice before, but as he folded and sorted his clothes, Amycus was stuffing some of them into another bag, small enough it could only be for a few days. Her brow knitting, Alecto looked up at her brother.

"Where are you going? The Ministry?" she asked, utterly vexed. He had been tight-lipped about his plans for work; she only assumed he would fill some kind of internship with the Ministry. Now that she was thinking on it, Alecto thought it was quite odd for any graduating student to keep so quiet about finding work. Most people were scrambling to find connections, calling upon distant family and worshipping their parents' friends until they found an opening.

He mumbled, so quietly she had to guess, "Rabastan."

"Lestrange?" she asked incredulously, as if there was any other Rabastan. She felt herself shaking a bit. Something deep inside her was fearful about the idea, Amycus and Rabastan together again, after he had only just come home. The only real kinship between the boys was their role in the Slytherin hierarchy: Amycus and Rab were the muscle. It was Rodolphus she really worried about. He was a legend, a shot-caller, in the world of power-thirsty boys. Alecto wondered if it was only her sex that allowed her to see past Rodolphus Lestrange's little glamour, or if Amycus saw it too and only wouldn't admit it.

"W-why?" she asked softly, and Amycus looked at her with eyes like stone.

"Because we're old mates, and that's all you need to know," he spat out at her like venom. Alecto looked at him, mouth hanging open. Rarely was he that…mean. To her, at least.

"Obviously, then, there's something else to know," Alecto snapped, a hint of begging in her voice. Amycus seemed to stiffen at her words; his hands still buried in his luggage, and let out a long, pensive breath.

"It's not something you can run off and tell all your little girlfriends. Or mum, or dad. It's better if you don't know," he muttered. They stood on either side of the bed, frozen, wordless, for quite a while.

"I don't have anyone to tell," Alecto said with indifference. It was something both of them were aware of, but perhaps he was trying to be kind. She glanced up at her brother, and there was something like resolve in his eyes. She nodded at him. Amycus may not have known it, but his little sister was capable of keeping secrets, if they were important enough.

Amycus, still with his eyes on her, began to roll up the left sleeve of his oxford. Neither of them spoke as he revealed the shock of black upon his pale forearm. As he pushed his sleeve up above his elbow the blackness took shape, a skull, almost smiling, with a serpentine tongue. It was terribly ugly, and not at all creative.

"What the hell have you done to yourself?" she squealed. Amycus hushed her, looking about nervously.

"It's his mark, Ali," he whispered, and she looked at him, open-mouthed.

"Rabastan's?"

"No, you bint. The Dark Lord," Amycus replied fervently, "Lord Voldemort."

"Lord Who?"

He rolled his eyes at her and she grew frustrated; there had been whispers of some Dark Lord in the darkened corners of Hogwarts but she had never had any desire to piece them together. As Alecto stared at the tattoo marring her brother's skin, it seemed to grow fuzzy and move of its own accord, dancing before her eyes.

"What does it mean?" she asked, still fixated on the black ink.

"It means we're going to change the world."

x x x

She had been injured, but pain, hot and sharp, had been pushed to the back of her brain. It seemed as if every nerve in her body was firing, all the muscles in her straining at once, as she ran, ducking curses as she volleyed her own. Her robes were long gone, and the mask too. Alecto felt oddly naked without them.

It was well past midnight, but the sky was lit up like New Year's, all manners of curses exploding over the countryside. The grass was wet beneath her feet, licking at her ankles. A roar, louder than any breathing creature she knew could produce, sounded from behind her.

Someone had set the house on fire.

Antonin's voice, rough and ragged, was the only one she recognized. He must have been close. She stopped dead in her tracks. Swinging her head around for only a moment, Alecto saw Antonin, standing downhill from her. Several meters away, on the opposite side of the house, both Lestranges and Rosier looked as if they were closing in on one of them. Doholov came back into her view; he was running toward her.

As she forced her gaze away from her comrade, Alecto realized why Antonin was in such a hurry to reach her. The figure of a man, tall and narrow, came trotting down the hill. She raised her wand and fired a curse, but it was as if it had hit him before she said the words, like muscle memory. The sky was bright again. As the light faded she watched as the man up the hill crumpled to the ground and the hail of curses ended.

Doholov caught up to her, breathing so ragged she worried he might collapse. Together they advanced, wands ready, until they came upon their adversary.

"He's dead," Antonin said flatly, before moving in the others' direction. Alecto did not follow.

She stood over Gideon Prewett and stared down at him. He was perfectly still like most corpses, but one of his feet was flat upon the grass, his knee bent almost unnaturally. There was blood, dark and thick, smeared across his forehead and over one eye. It unnerved her that his eyes were open, vacant, staring into the heavens. Again a series of spells fired over her, setting the sky alight for only a moment. In that time she noticed his freckles, and the pale blue of his veins pushing through his skin. The blood had stopped pumping by now; there was nothing in his veins. Something like pride swelled within her; here lay one of the greatest wizards of his time, felled by her wand. Probably. A smile found its way across her face.

Her time with the body satisfied, Alecto trudged up over the hill to where the other Death Eaters battled the other twin; the odds were too much for him now. The pain returned to her then, coursing through her body like blood. She found herself wondering what Gideon Prewett had eaten for breakfast, or if he had gotten anything interesting in the post, or who would miss him. She tried to shake his face from her brain.

By the time she reached Evan the fight was over; they were all stowing their wands and walking away from Fabian's pitiful body. Evan was limping slightly.

"It was a good fight," someone said as they walked back to their Apparation point, off the grounds. Alecto made no reply, for she wasn't sure whether she agreed. Someone congratulated her, and she laughed in reply, but was unsure if she deserved it. The curse that felled Prewett, that could have come from anyone. It could have hit him in the back.

"Morsmordre!" Antonin howled into the night, sending up their calling card. Alecto hurried alongside Evan; this was no place to linger. The Order would be coming soon, and Alecto feared she wouldn't be much use in another fight. Her nerves were still singing, making her move forward, as if she was herself enchanted.

"Good work, little bit," Rodolphus whispered just before they reached the spot, where they could hide away between two tall cypress trees. She smiled again, her heart swelling so much she feared it would crowd her throat.

As they walked away from the old house atop a lonely hill, Alecto wondered if this was the world Amycus had imagined, as they whispered in his room all those years ago.


End file.
